i climb out of what was once a window, but is now the crown,
of someone that was lost, before they could be found.
on the other side, the voice of authority is a sob and a cry.
the weary have been called for 'cause they live without choice,
yet are the first to die.
three words have been spoken and now there's no mistaken,
that those years have been misinterpreted, forsaken.
so come down and see the broken doll.
when you pick him up, you drag him down
but he only complains when you're deaf to the sound
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